


A sleight of hand

by chamyl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: ...in a sense, Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale/Crowley/Aziraphale, Aziraphale’s moral compass is a roulette wheel, Blow Jobs, Clones, Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Sex Toys, Smut, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Touch-Starved Crowley (Good Omens), Voyeurism, oh yeah I went there, quite filthy tbh, this has a gentle D/S-ish vibe at one point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 23:10:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20479004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl
Summary: A cold drop of sweat ran down the back of his neck as Crowley opened the wardrobe right next to the one Aziraphale was hiding in. He dragged something heavy out of it and went back to the bed. Aziraphale adjusted his position to get a better view. Oh. He’d seen that thing before.~~~After their fight over holy water in 1862, Aziraphale goes to Crowley’s house to apologize. Instead, he ends up witnessing a very private moment.Two hundred years later, he confesses he didn’t exactlymind.





	1. I’m in love with illusions, so saw me in half

**Author's Note:**

> Main title and chapter titles are all from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RB_ternFn54) because I like it and because I had finished all my brain power writing porn and couldn’t be assed to come up with titles myself :’) Also it makes me think of Crowley but what song doesn’t lately.

“Oh dear.” The dark grey swan looked at Aziraphale with unblinking eyes, waiting for some food to drop from his fidgeting hands. “I’ve well and truly made a mess of things.”

The swan drifted by his feet, patient. Surely the man had brought something along for it to eat? It couldn’t very well feed itself on that tiny scrap of paper that burned as soon as it touched the water, could it now?

It had seen the whole thing. The two men shouting, the white one stomping off angrily. His black friend had waited around for a while, then rushed away in the other direction.

The white man had come back a while later and stared at the birds in silence. All alone, shoulders slumped.

“But I can’t very well let him risk his life, can I?” He asked, taking his fluffy hat off and worrying at its brim. “He’s—he’s so reckless in the face of danger. That’s what got him into this situation in the first place.”

He remained quiet for a while, frowning at the swan. Little by little and then all at once, his expression melted into one of intense remorse.

“Oh no, that really isn’t fair of me.” He took a deep breath. “I feel as if he takes everything so lightly, but I’ve been proven time and again he does not. I’m just…” The man shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I have to apologize. I could have explained myself much better.” He raised both eyebrows at the swan, smiling down at it. “Thank you for listening, my friend.”

The swan followed him along for a little while as the man walked away. It called after him, but Aziraphale was already lost in his own thoughts and didn’t hear it.

* * *

“Mr. Fell! Good day.”

“Mr. Hellier, a good day to you.” Replied Aziraphale with some difficulty, lugging along a rather large houseplant onto the steps of Crowley’s terraced house.

The man smiled underneath his thick brown moustache. “Am I right in assuming this is a present for Mr. Crowley?”

Aziraphale had always liked him. This part of town wasn’t the friendliest, and surely there were more refined neighbourhoods in London – but Mr. Hellier, whose home shared a wall with Crowley’s, seemed to have taken a liking to both Aziraphale and Crowley. To be fair, he seemed to fancy Aziraphale way more. Crowley had even commented, through gritted teeth, that Mr. Hellier had a certain _interest_ in Aziraphale, but the angel had waved away the silly idea. Either way, the man had been nothing but kind and polite to both of them.

Which was quite important, seeing as he was also Crowley’s landlord.

“Ah, yes… I’m afraid we had a most unpleasant disagreement. I am here to make amends.” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley’s window, black curtains closed behind the glass. “Do you reckon I will find him home?”

“Ah, I think not. Haven’t seen him in hours. Or _heard_ him.” He remarked, in a way that made Aziraphale think that when Crowley was home he made more than enough noise to make his presence known to the whole neighbourhood.

Aziraphale sighed, leaning slightly against the bergamot tree he’d been carrying. He shouldn’t have picked something so heavy, but it’d felt so nostalgic! He distinctly remembered walking through the estates of the Medici family in Florence with Crowley by his side, somewhere in the 16th century. At that point in history, nobody in Europe had taken such an interest in citrus plants, and strolling among the lemons, oranges, citrons and bergamots had reminded both the angel and the demon of the Garden of Eden, their first home on Earth.

“That’s unfortunate.” Aziraphale winced, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “I seem to have made a series of bad decisions today.” He smiled sheepishly at Mr. Hellier.

“Well…” Mr. Hellier considered Aziraphale and his oversized plant for a moment. “I do have a key. I’m sure Mr. Crowley wouldn’t mind if I let you in. He might be much more offended if I left you in the street. You seem like very good friends.”

For some reason, the last remark sounded like a probing inquiry to Aziraphale’s ears. It was also the wrong day to ask that question in particular. “Well…” Aziraphale was stumped. What were they? He let a few seconds too many pass by as he thought it over.

Mr. Hellier waved whatever Aziraphale was going (or wasn’t going) to say away with a gesture of his hand. “Say no more, Mr. Fell.” He handed him a key, with what Aziraphale could have sworn was a sad little smile on his amiable face. “May luck be in your favour.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you, Mr. Hellier, this will make everything much easier. Much obliged.” He said, pocketing the key.

“By your leave, sir.” Mr. Hellier nodded his goodbye and walked away.

* * *

In truth, Aziraphale realized he probably shouldn’t have entered Crowley’s house without permission only once he was already inside. He’d been so concerned with the plant, with their argument, with the suspicion that maybe Crowley’s assumptions about Mr. Hellier were right after all, that he hadn’t thought twice about turning the key and letting himself in.

He closed the door behind him and stood in Crowley’s empty home; the silence deafening. He went back and forth on whether it’d be a good idea to remove his jacket, then decided to keep it on. He didn’t want to stay long. Just enough for Crowley to come home, settle their quarrel, and leave.

He sat in an uncomfortable dark red armchair by the front door, hoping to placate some of Crowley’s hypothetical anger upon finding him in his house if he saw him by the entrance rather than deeper into his home.

He took in the surrounding space. It was very impersonal and cold. It looked like Crowley hadn’t bothered decorating at all since moving in.

By that point, Aziraphale’s bookshop had been open for twenty-odd years, and it already felt like a comfortable nest. A warm, secluded corner of the world where he could read, work, or share a bottle of wine with an old friend. Crowley’s house was nothing like that. Sparse dark furniture, barely any art on the grey walls, a few plants.

Aziraphale stared at the bergamot tree for a whole thirty-seven minutes. The tree stared back. Then, he decided he needed to find a better spot for it. It should probably get some sun, shouldn’t it? He looked around him. There were three doors. He decided to take the one on the left.

It led him to a clearly untouched small kitchen. The light there was perfect, hitting the window just right and casting yellow rays all over the floor. There was also enough empty space, so he once more grabbed the large plant and moved it to a nice spot right by the window. He dusted his hands off and went back to the tiny hall he’d come from, satisfied with his choice.

But, with nothing left to do, he found himself eyeing the other two doors. Well. Crowley was nowhere to be seen. And Aziraphale was _so curious_. Crowley had been at the bookshop plenty of times, a sort of neutral ground (not really neutral, though, was it?), safe, but not intimate enough to make either of them uncomfortable. Aziraphale, on the other hand, had never, ever walked into Crowley’s living space, for all that he’d often come by, waiting for Crowley to meet him in the street or giving him a ride back in his carriage after a night out of drinking.

A little peek couldn’t hurt. Right? Aziraphale justified it to himself as something he sort of had to do. He hadn’t really been assigned to find out how demons lived, but surely the most information he had the better. One could properly thwart the forces of evil only building upon a solid knowledge about how said forces functioned on this Earth. Or something along those lines.

He found the bedroom quickly enough. Had he been honest with himself, he would have admitted it was what he was searching for to begin with. He had no idea why it fascinated him so. Maybe it’s because he knew Crowley had fallen into the habit of sleeping, possibly every single night. What a thought. The demon would lie in a bed, vulnerable, unconscious. Possibly in a state of undress? Oh my. Now Aziraphale wished he’d taken off his jacket.

Crowley’s bedroom was much like every other room in the house. Impersonal and cold. Huge wardrobes on one side, a big bed with spotless white sheets on the other. Aziraphale was drawn to the bed despite himself. He tested it with a hand; it was very soft. Well, what was he expecting, for Crowley to sleep on a slab of stone?

He moved away from the bed, drawing his hand back as if he’d been scalded. Danger lay that way, he knew, although he prevented himself from exploring that thought any further. Aziraphale had spent a very long time stopping himself from asking _why_. He was a professional at this point.

He turned his attention to the wardrobes, not quite daring to look inside. But he let himself imagine. Unlike himself, Crowley blinked his clothes into existence; he knew that much. So why would he need so much room? He put a hand on the dark wood in front of him, silently asking questions he’d get no reply to. What did Crowley store in there? What did Crowley hide from view? What did Crowley stash away where Aziraphale couldn’t see? Deep, deeper down, what lay under all the layers that made Crowley the most interesting demon Aziraphale had ever known?

His eyes went wide as he heard the jingle of keys outside the front door, the lock clicking open. _Fuck_, Crowley couldn’t find him in his own bedroom. It would have been bad enough to find him inside his house. Aziraphale panicked and took a decision he knew to be stupid even as he was acting on it. He opened the wardrobe in front of him quietly, relieved at finding it mostly empty, and stepped in. He pulled the door closed and congratulated himself for getting trapped in such a sticky situation.

But what could he have done? _Oh, hello Crowley. I was irresistibly attracted to the room where you sleep; you see. I’ve been wondering for a while what you look like in the morning, when you wake up, hair tussled and eyelids heavy. I’ve been wondering whether you look softer, despite all your angles and edges. I’ve been picturing your face – despite myself, believe me – before you school your features into a cold, detached glare._

Aziraphale hid his face in the palm of his hands, sighing silently. What the hell was wrong with him?

Then, he heard a crash. Crowley’s footsteps were heavy on the wooden floors as he stomped into the bedroom. Had he been found out? Aziraphale watched through a crack in the wardrobe doors, holding a breath he technically didn’t need. Crowley sat on the bed and took off his heavy boots, tossing them angrily against the nearest wall – not one he shared with any neighbours, thankfully. He was muttering something, but Aziraphale couldn’t make out any words.

With a growl, Crowley stood up, slammed the door shut, sat back down, snapped to his feet again.

“_Fraternizing_.” He snarled to himself, and Aziraphale felt a sharp pang of guilt in his stomach. He hadn’t meant to hurt him. He’d panicked at the idea that Crowley would be wiped out of existence, either by holy water or by the forces of Hell, were they to find out about their friendship. So, he’d downplayed it. He’d pushed Crowley away. And he was sorry. He still didn’t agree he should get him holy water, but he really was remorseful about the way he’d handled the whole thing.

A cold drop of sweat ran down the back of his neck as Crowley opened the wardrobe right next to the one Aziraphale was hiding in. He dragged something heavy out of it and went back to the bed. Aziraphale adjusted his position to get a better view. Oh. He’d seen that _thing_ before.

Angel and demons were taught their powers worked in different ways. Angels were taught they could create, but not destroy. Demons were taught they could alter reality, but not really blink anything into or out of existence. Through their friendship, Aziraphale and Crowley were currently the only two occult (or ethereal) forces to know that it wasn’t strictly true. Angels and demon, actually, could do pretty much the very same things – the catch being they could only do what they _imagined_ they could do. That’s how the arrangement between Crowley and Aziraphale worked. Aziraphale had, with some trouble, imagined himself capable of tempting. Crowley had convinced himself he could bless if he really wanted to. As it followed, they had found out they were basically interchangeable, and no one was ever the wiser. Not Gabriel, not Beelzebub. Maybe God, but She didn’t meddle.

Following the assumption that demons couldn’t create anything, Crowley had been equipped with some tools of the trade. Whether he used them for work or in his free time, well – that wasn’t anyone’s business, was it?

This particular _tool_ was a very powerful one, and one he had rarely used – at least as far as Aziraphale knew. It was completely made of wood, twigs bent and woven together to form a human-shaped doll about the size of an average person. A cursed thing, to be sure. And yet, quite harmless in its evilness, even by Aziraphale’s standards. It was nothing more than a base, a structure to build upon.

Crowley demonstrated how to use it just then, stretching his hands open and closed and pressing two fingers against the doll’s head. In the blink of an eye, it wasn’t a lifeless doll of slender twigs any more. It was a person. It was…

Aziraphale blinked twice, then twice more, recognizing his own features where the doll had been. He forgot to release the breath he’d been holding.

The doll stood perfectly still. As Aziraphale knew, whatever semblance it took, it couldn’t really act on its own. It could only draw from the mind of the person that controlled it. It was a bit tricky to use, in the sense that the master had to be in complete control of his own thoughts. For example, if it was being used to trick a human, a blip of unintentional anger from its master could have the doll slap its target instead.

Aziraphale furrowed his brows. It was very clear to him that Crowley was in no emotional state to use such a tool. What did he want with it, anyway? Why use it now?

“Fraternising…” Crowley repeated, voice dripping with disdain as the doll sat on the edge of the bed. The resemblance to Aziraphale was uncanny, even in the way it blinked up at the demon, a neutral expression on its face. Crowley’s voice broke as he kept talking, getting louder and louder. “We’ve been friends for… for how long now? More than five thousand years. _Five thousand years_. And you have the gull to call it _fraternising_!”

Crowley’s shout echoed in the room. Aziraphale felt the hurt in his voice like a punch to the throat. He was absolutely sure, in that moment, that Crowley would have never let it transpire if he’d been talking to the real angel rather than a cursed doll. _Oh, Crowley. I’m so sorry._

“Sorry.” The doll said, mechanically. Crowley shook his head, stared at it, hard. “I apologize, dear.” The doll tried again, sounding much more like Aziraphale this time. The real angel recoiled inside the wardrobe. How spooky… though it was really no surprise that Crowley could make it talk just like him. They knew each other so well, the demon and him.

Crowley threw his glasses to the side before speaking again. “_Whatever I wish to call it_, you said. You couldn’t just admit we’re friends, could you?”

“We’re friends.” The doll replied immediately. Crowley brought a hand to his face, sighing into it. He then waved it in the air, willing the doll to repeat itself. It reached out for him, fingers tugging at his sleeve. “We’re friends.” It offered, with a little more conviction.

“Course we are.” He grabbed the doll’s hand at the wrist. “_I_ know we are. But you just have to be so stubborn all the bloody time.” A few long seconds trickled by. When he continued, Crowley’s voice was softer, quieter. He slumped his shoulders, staring into the doll’s eyes. “You have no idea. To me, you’re…”

Aziraphale brought a hand to his mouth. He could swear, in that moment, he could feel the weight of the words unsaid. Crowley wasn’t talking about being friends. He was…

It started to dawn on him just how deep his outburst must have cut. Crowley was a lot more sensitive than he let on. And Aziraphale had disregarded his feelings, trivialized their entire relationship, and denied him his help. What a mess.

“Sit here.” The doll asked. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. Of course, it wasn’t actually the doll asking; it was Crowley’s wish to be asked to sit down. And, in fact, the demon did. “We’re friends, my dear. Of course we are.” The doll comforted him.

Aziraphale sank into the back of the wardrobe wondering whether he’d ruined their friendship forever. Could he really make amends at this point? And could he ever free himself from the guilt of intruding on Crowley’s privacy like he had? He’d never meant for this to happen. He’d wanted to deliver his plant, take a look around. He hadn’t meant to become privy of Crowley’s most intimate, most vulnerable moments.

Or had he? His head was beginning to hurt. He heard the doll speaking again. “We’re more than friends.”

He tilted his head to the side, crawling closer to the crack again.

“I’m not doing this again.” Crowley replied, voice hoarse as he sat next to the doll, who immediately put a hand on the demon’s knee. Aziraphale stared at them, wide-eyed.

The doll raised a hand to cup Crowley’s cheek. All of him seemed to curl into that touch, yellow eyes closing, features softening. _Oh_. Aziraphale’s hands, on his thighs, twitched. He never knew Crowley could look so beautifully sad. He’d never meant to make him feel like that. He only ever wanted to protect him – even from himself, if he had to.

Aziraphale looked on, utterly bewitched, as the doll leaned closer, kissing Crowley square on the lips. The angel’s face went up in flames at the sight.

“I’m not doing this again.” Repeated Crowley, with little conviction. “It’s humiliating. It’s pathetic.”

The doll seemed to pay him no mind, fingers freeing him from his tie, unbuttoning his shirt. It leaned in, pressing his lips against the side of neck. Crowley sighed. Aziraphale burned. And yet, he knew – despite the demon’s protests, the doll had no free will. It was basically an elaborate toy. It was doing exactly what its master wanted it to. Nothing more, nothing less.

“No.” Crowley said. The doll unbuttoned his pants. “I can’t.” He sucked in a breath, and Aziraphale could do nothing but stare as he realized the demon had made an Effort, and that the doll that looked just like him was presently stroking said Effort. Very roughly, too. It made him feel… some sort of way.

Surely he should have been scandalized. Upset. _Angry_. Was that what it was? Was it anger making his mouth dry? Was it anger making the heat coil between his legs? Aziraphale palmed at the unwelcome erection he could feel through his thick pants. Good Lord. Whatever illness had befallen him, he was doing much worse than he’d imagined.

“Angel,” Crowley moaned, and all of Aziraphale’s body tensed like a violin string in response. He slapped a hand over his own mouth. “_Ah_, fuck it…”

The demon and the doll leaned back on the bed. The doll straddled him, a hand around Crowley’s throat and the other wrapped around his cock. Punishing and comforting him at the same time. Crowley grasped and writhed, trapped under the weight of his creation. Exactly how he wanted it to be, Aziraphale reminded himself.

The angel could not tear his eyes away. Crowley was becoming more and more undone by the second, squirming, crying out at the obscene, slick sound of the doll’s hand slapping up and down on his body as it pumped. It was only a few minutes before Crowley let out a long, desperate sound, painting white streaks all over his striking black clothes.

Aziraphale found himself panting, a hand pressed between his thighs.

For a while, nothing happened, and the angel was able to calm down the crazed beating of his heart in his ears. Then, the doll stood up, and Aziraphale’s features disappeared, leaving it in its original shape.

Crowley was curled up on the bed. He had his back to Aziraphale, and his shoulders were shaking. The angel swallowed, wanting nothing more than to reach out and comfort him, but couldn’t. What could he even say? This situation was beyond repairing now. He’d been right. Their friendship was completely ruined.

Aziraphale was convinced Crowley must have fallen asleep when the demon sprang off the bed, grabbing the doll and shoving it back into the wardrobe it had come from, slamming the doors so hard Aziraphale was surprised that they didn’t crack. He made himself smaller into his hiding spot.

Crowley walked right past him. Aziraphale heard him moving around the house, then saw him come back to the bed and undress completely. _Goodness, so beautiful_. He slipped under the covers, wrapping himself tight in the blankets. He snapped his fingers and suddenly it was pitch black.

Aziraphale waited. He waited and waited, and it was maybe several hours later when he dared slip out of the wardrobe, as quietly as he could manage. Crowley was fast asleep, the sound of his breaths peaceful and calm at last.

“May you dream about whatever you like best, my dear.” He blessed him, then sneaked to the front door.

He touched the handle and snapped his hand back. It was freezing cold, so much he couldn’t have held it for more than a few seconds without his skin coming off. Demonic magic, and very powerful at that – the equivalent of consecrated ground. Crowley must have sealed the door closed before falling asleep. He must have intended to take a very long nap.

Aziraphale shuffled to the kitchen window, opened it and looked down. Two stories high. He could do it. He’d done worse. At worst, he’d magic himself down and apologize for the frivolous use of a miracle. He let out a long sigh. He shot one last, sorry look in Crowley’s general direction, and stepped out, hoping the marble sill wouldn’t decide to give out under him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it need to be said? They’ve both been awful this chapter, don’t do this at home kids, etc.  
Then again, you probably don’t have a faceless demonic doll hanging around…


	2. Pull another rabbit out of your hat

It’s a brand new world in very many ways.

The Apocalypse didn’t happen. Aziraphale and Crowley had lunch at the Ritz. They had their picnic.

Aziraphale reached out and pressed his lips to Crowley's under a whitebeam tree. Crowley froze, stunned. Aziraphale pulled back. Crowley chased after his lips. They kissed again. Aziraphale giggled.

For all that everything’s been very complicated in the past, this part is simple. There is nothing easier than spending their days in the bookshop, Crowley lounging in the backroom while Aziraphale pretends to work, and spending their night in Crowley’s bed, often not sleeping a wink. Until the day Aziraphale proposes they move out of the city, where it’d be harder for anyone from their former sides to find them. Where he can have a private library rather than a bookshop, so that he doesn’t have to try his hardest to chase away potential customers.

It’s easy to buy a cottage by the sea, move in, and enjoy the endless stretch of days in front of them. Boredom is a luxury, and they’ve more than earned it. The years roll by easily, as the season melt into one another, as the two of them lay together in bed, trying everything at least once and many things twice, thrice, enough times to lose count.

The first kisses were hesitant. The following were hungry. Then they became curious, passionate, tender.

A few years later, and there’s a whole array of kisses they can resort to, depending on the time of day, the occasion, their mood. There are good morning and goodnight kisses, there are brief presses of lips when one of them is deeply entrenched in something and the other happens to walk by. Quiet, little sparks of love that get them through the day.

There are more daring kisses when they’re in town and have to wait until they’re home to indulge in their desires. And indulge they do. There are deep, wet kisses, kisses that travel far away from the other’s lips, down along well-beaten paths, along the edge of soft curves and into familiar crevices.

Crowley often wakes up in their cosy bedroom and feels like his heart might burst. This is so much more than he’d ever hoped for himself. He’s so happy it spills out of him in a million ways, and it’s so hard to fancy himself a respectable demon when the first thing he does as soon as he opens his eyes is cling to the lovely plump thigh next to his face, alerting Aziraphale that he’s awake, and could he put his book down, please, and welcome him into another damnably delightful day?

* * *

It’s easy to fall asleep in the greenhouse he’s built for himself behind the cottage. The mornings are quiet and warm, so warm, and he naps surrounded by his plants. He’s still snake enough to appreciate an old-fashioned kip in the sun, often he brings a blanket along to lay on the ground and lie on, congratulating himself on indulging in one of the deadly sins (sloth, in this case) so well.

Aziraphale’s soft steps rouse him from his sleep. The angel sits down next to him, petting his hair. Crowley closes his eyes and almost falls asleep again.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s hands stop on his head.

“Ye_s_?” Crowley replies, forgetting a little hiss in his words.

“Do you remember when you slept for almost eighty consecutive years?”

Crowley tenses, opening his eyes to observe the pattern of Aziraphale’s trousers very up close. A bad memory, that one, very bad. He was so ashamed of what he’d done, and their whole fight about the holy water… he’d needed some time to get over it. Almost eighty years, to be precise.

“Yes?” He says again. “What about it?”

“There’s something I need to confess.” Aziraphale sighs, index finger wrapping around a ginger strand of hair. “But first, I would like you to tell me why there’s a cabinet in the garage I can’t open no matter how much I try.”

“Uuuh…” Crowley briefly considers lying, but it’s been such a long time since he’s done it he’s not even sure it’s a skill he still has anymore. He decides a vague truth is his best bet. “Old work stuff. Y’know. Nothing fancy.”

“I see.” Aziraphale replies, and Crowley, for some reason, feels like the one that follows is a very pregnant pause. He turns out to be right. Aziraphale gathers his hands in his lap, worrying at his fingers as he speaks. “I know why you slept for so long. _Beside_ our fight, that is.”

Crowley feels blood rushing to his cheeks. He props himself up on one hand, twisting to look at his angel. “How d’you…”

“I… was there, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale stares down at his own knees, refusing to raise his gaze. “Mr. Hellier gave me a key. I had come to apologize.”

“No you weren’t.” Crowley mutters, trying to remember. “I was alone. I sealed myself in.”

“Yes, thank you for that.” Aziraphale tries to chide him, but it comes out embarrassed rather than reproachful. “I had to use a window.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shoot up as his mouth opens, wordless.

“I shouldn’t have, but I… I was curious. I wandered into your bedroom. When I heard you coming in… I panicked, I guess. I hid into one of your wardrobes.”

The full weight of what Aziraphale is saying begins to dawn on Crowley. If Aziraphale was there the whole time, then… he must have seen. He must have heard. He leans back, stunned.

“I am so sorry, my dear. It is unforgivable, I understand. I should have—I should have said something. Made my presence known. But we had just fought, and I didn’t want to do anything that could have made matters worse. I was convinced our friendship was over.” He scratches a spot behind his neck, eyes glued to the ground. “And indeed, I remained convinced of that for a very long time. Until you woke up and came to save me and my books from the Nazis in 1941.”

Finally, Aziraphale’s pale blue eyes meet Crowley’s. Crowley realizes he hasn’t said a word yet.

“Could you ever forgive me?”

Crowley opens and closes his mouth fruitlessly a few times. “You… you saw that?” Aziraphale nods slowly. “And you—you still wanted me? After _that_?” He spits out the last word, incredulous.

“Well, I… I had a lot of time to think it over, you see. And I realized that really, it wasn’t any different from… well. From what I was doing myself, if we’re being honest.” Fortunately, this is not the first time Crowley hears about Aziraphale indulging in masturbation, so his head does not explode. Yet. “I just went about it in a little less elaborate way.”

“Fuck, Aziraphale.” Crowley gives a short, incredulous laugh. “Leave it to you to rationalize something like that.”

“To be fair, dearest.” Aziraphale puts a hand on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “What I did was much worse. Invading your private space, watching you from the shadows… very unbecoming of me. Although…” He trails off, and Crowley catches that look on Aziraphale’s face that signals something interesting is about to come to light.

“Although?” He slides closer to the angel, a grin beginning to take over his face. “Although what?”

“The circumstances were, of course, appalling.” Aziraphale scratches his cheek, looks away. “However… oh Crowley, come on now. Don’t make me say it.”

“What, angel?” Crowley leans closer, pressing against Aziraphale’s side. He bites his lower lip, raising both eyebrows at him. “Liked what you saw?” A blush colours the angel’s cheeks and Crowley narrows his eyes. He’s on the right track, but not quite there. “I already know you like to watch, though…”

“You are _extremely_ easy on the eyes, yes.”

“I can also be easy on other parts of—”

“Crowley.”

“Yes. Right.” He thinks back on that day. He doesn’t really remember it in much detail. He recalls their fight well enough. He remembers wandering around the city, taking his anger out on whichever mortal crossed his way. When he got tired enough that his anger edged back, leaving him feeling lonely and pathetic, he went home. He pulled out the doll, and… it’s his turn to blush as he realizes he probably called Aziraphale’s name as he had his toy toss him off. He wouldn’t be embarrassed to do it now, but—back then?

Anyway, it’s not the voyeuristic part Aziraphale is referring to. So, it must be… _oh_. “Angel… do I have to go through that cabinet in the garage?”

“If you’d like.” Aziraphale’s eyelashes flutter as he looks away. _Bingo_.

“Oh, I’d _like_.”

* * *

For all his bravado, Crowley is the one flushing when he faces two Aziraphales studying one another.

He’s had lots and lots of time to come up with many fantasies involving his angel and has yet to burn through them all. But, somehow, he had never thought of this one in particular.

Aziraphale reaches out to touch the doll’s lips, and Crowley decides it’s a wise course of action to sit down in the armchair before his knees give out.

“So, to control it…”

“Focus on it, like I said.” Crowley’s eyes dart to the closed window of their bedroom. Nah, it’s not actually hot in here; it’s just him. He shuts his eyes tight for a second, releasing control on the doll. “There. I’ll leave it to you.”

Aziraphale, absolute dork that he is, waves at the doll, then tries having the doll wave back. Crowley wonders, not for the first time, how he looked at this angel in particular and decided – _this one, I want to jump his bones._

And then Aziraphale turns to him and smiles, satisfied with himself for managing to move the doll, and Crowley melts a little into his seat.

The angel stares at the perfect replica of himself for a little longer. “Ah, this will take some getting used to.”

“We have all the time in the w—” Crowley chokes on air when Aziraphale leans forward and presses his lips to the doll’s. Why is he surprised? Why _the Heaven_ is he surprised? Hasn’t he had enough time to learn that Aziraphale, the absolute hedonist that he is – and more than enough of a bastard – will dive into anything he likes without a lick of shame, once he’s cleared up the hurdles of guilt and qualms in his mind?

The kiss deepens. Crowley swallows. Aziraphale makes a small noise that travels from the demon’s ears straight to his groin. Fuck. He’s in too deep, he’s going to drown.

As his brain struggles to process what’s happening in front of his eyes, he doesn’t quite realize he’s staring, mouth agape like a fish. The two angels – the real and the fake one – undress each other. It’s like watching a reflection reach out through a mirror. Aziraphale doesn’t hesitate, nor does he flinch away – why should he, when he’s the one both undressing and being undressed? He’s perfectly in control of the situation. Which is good, Crowley thinks – it’s great. One of them has to be, and it’s becoming increasingly clear to the demon that it won’t be him.

The last of their clothes fall to the floor. He’s not bothering putting them away neatly, just another indicator that Aziraphale is thoroughly focused on what he’s doing. Crowley has to suppress the stupid urge to pick them up for him.

His golden eyes travel back up along the bodies in front of him, all pink and soft and flushed in places. As he’s wondering what’s going to happen next, Aziraphale turns to him. The angel is smiling, but there’s an edge to his voice when he speaks. Crowley knows why it’s there – it’s because Aziraphale knows him inside and out, and knows exactly what he’ll respond to. “Come here, Crowley.”

The demon can do nothing but let out a shaky breath and go, knowing from the very start that he’ll happily submit to anything Aziraphale might ask him to do.

As soon as he’s within reach, the angel takes his hand and pulls him between him and the doll. Crowley shudders.

Two sets of hands begin undressing him, slowly and gently. Aziraphale must have decided that they’re doing this the human way. Crowley has no complaints. He shrugs out of the last of his clothes and the doll takes a step forward, pressing into him and holding him firmly at the hips. Crowley has never used it like this; he was always too guilt-riddled to truly have any fun with it. A kiss, maybe a quick hand job, and back into the closet it went, hidden away as quickly as possible.

Aziraphale kisses him, holding his chin between thumb and forefinger. He runs his other hand down Crowley’s heaving chest, flicking a nipple on his way. “My beautiful.”

“Angel…”

“Let me take care of you.”

Aziraphale waits for a barely perceptible nod from Crowley before he has the doll move. Its hands leave Crowley’s hips, and it wraps its arms up and around the demon’s armpits, holding him back. This isn’t the first time they’ve played with restraints, but – as Crowley realizes with a start – it’s the first time he might not be able to free himself if he tries. He’s never actively tried to resist the doll and, what’s more, he’s never had someone else control it.

His breath hitches in his throat at the dull ache in his shoulder as he’s almost lifted off the ground. Aziraphale drops to his knees, nudges Crowley’s legs apart, and begins nibbling at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Crowley’s exposed cock throbs, and he lets go, letting his whole weight drop into the supernaturally strong arms holding him up and back.

Aziraphale spends an unquantifiable amount of time between his legs, kissing, licking, biting at his thighs, sucking small bruises over the thin skin over his hipbones, over the sensitive, soft spot below his navel, undoing him little by little, never quite touching him where he needs it the most. Crowley knows better than to ask, even when the hot breath of the angel tickles the wet tip of his cock, lingers, turns away again. His traitorous hips buckle and Aziraphale laughs softly into the juncture where his thigh meets his abdomen.

“Angel…” He says again, not trusting himself with any other word.

Aziraphale gives him a playful look, an angelic smile on his beautiful face even as he presses his round cheek against Crowley’s outer thigh. He’s gorgeous like this, with that little wicked spark in his eyes, a faint wet sheen on his swollen lips.

“It’s time, isn’t it?” He asks, and Crowley nods, a look of understanding passing between the two of them.

What Aziraphale means – what they’ve found out after many, many hours of doing this – is that Crowley is a generous lover, always intent on giving his angel everything and anything. Himself included, many times over. But also, at his very core, Crowley still does not believe himself to be deserving of so much love. Which is absolutely inconceivable to his angel, as he’s said out loud many times.

Therefore, every now and again, Aziraphale decides to turn the tables on him. Sometimes, it becomes a physical need to show Crowley just how much he is loved, sparing him nothing, allowing him no room for retreat. No slinking away when the angel tells him he’s kind, and lovely, and selfless. No scathing comebacks when Aziraphale thanks him, appreciates him, or congratulates him on his beauty or soul.

Aziraphale dedicates himself to this job with a firm, unwavering passion. He’s taken it on as his new mission in this new life of theirs, his duty as Crowley’s guardian. It’s not often that Crowley ends up cornered like he is today, with nowhere to run, and he’s sure Aziraphale is going to make the most of it.

Pleasure has edged into pain. Crowley is aching to be touched, properly touched this time, no more revving him up and leaving him to squirm. He knows Aziraphale won’t leave him hanging. Pain for pain’s sake is never in the plan; it’s never going to happen. Aziraphale refuses to indulge the self-hating side of him. If he ever teases him or makes him ache, it’s just to satisfy him more fully once they get around to it. The force of the angel’s love comes with its own kind of burning, tearing down at the barriers Crowley has built around himself through the years – but it’s a struggle that leaves him clean, full, warm. Healthy in a way he’s never been before.

At last, the doll lets go of the demon’s arms, and Crowley holds himself up with a shaky hand against the wall to his side. He hears shuffling behind him, then a hand that feels just like Aziraphale’s presses on his back, asking him to lean forward. He does. A moment later, the angel in front of him and the doll behind him are touching him again.

His bare golden eyes open wide as two hands grab at his ass and part him, a hot tongue sinking into him. He whimpers and looks down, and Aziraphale is closing his lips around his cock, a hand at its base to keep him still. He’s trapped, in the best possible way. If he shifts backwards, he’ll bump into the doll’s face. If he shifts forward, he’ll press farther into Aziraphale’s mouth. His nails try, uselessly, to grab at the smooth, hard surface of the wall. He realizes, distantly, he’s making noises, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when Aziraphale is taking care of him so well, pumping with his hand while his lips move back and forth on the tip of his cock.

When the doll pulls back, a slick finger pushes into him, going straight for the soft spot inside him that makes him see stars, and pushes, pushes, pushes, and he curls downward, gripping Aziraphale’s shoulder as he’s taken by surprise by his own orgasm – no chance of a warning for his angel, no nothing, just the pleasure ripping through his body, his mind going blank for a few, blissful moments.

Aziraphale – utter bastard, lovely thing that he is – looks up at him and smiles when Crowley comes back.

“All right?” He asks.

Crowley replies with a sharp intake of breath, an affirmative noise, and a wobbly smile. More than all right.

Aziraphale stands up and takes him by the hand, leading him to the bed. Crowley glances at the doll out of the corner of his eye, quite sure his angel isn’t done playing with it yet. The demon sees his chance to get the upper hand for a moment and takes it, shoving Aziraphale down on the bed, slithering over him and burying his face in the crook of his neck. He breathes him in and decides it’s his turn.

“You’ve got better.” He purrs as soon as he can gather three brain cells together.

“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale replies with a smile, “But not as good as you I’m afraid.”

“Well, you know…” Crowley maintains eye contact with him as he trails down along his chest, long fingers of one hand spread wide, sinking into his soft belly. “Not as if I mind showing you as many times as necessary.” He pulls himself up on his knees, straddling the angel’s legs. He’s reached Aziraphale’s cock now, presses his tongue flat against the tip. He’s rewarded with a sweet, whimpering noise. “Besides… you don’t get to be humble after what you just did.”

Aziraphale starts off with something like a giggle and ends with a startled moan because Crowley, without preambles, has taken his full length into his mouth, lips pressing into the soft blond hair at the base of his cock. Crowley begins feeling stronger, a bit more in control, a bit more in his element, and does his utter best to pay Aziraphale back for what he just did to him. He goes through all the tricks in his book in record time, feeling the angel’s fingers wrapped tightly in his hair, undecided between pulling, pushing, tugging. He makes an amused sound around his cock, and that’s when Aziraphale looks down at him, eyes narrowing for a second.

Crowley ignores it, too busy pressing his tongue against a spot just below the head of the angel’s cock that – as he’s learned – makes Aziraphale shake in his hands. But while he’s distracted, the doll has climbed onto the bed behind him, and he only realizes as much when it grabs him at the waist, holding him still as it presses the head of its cock against his ass. It stills, waits.

Crowley looks up again, and Aziraphale’s stare is intensely fixed on him. He’s asking. Why is he asking? The answer is always yes.

Crowley lets go of him to push himself backwards, gripping Aziraphale’s thighs as he exhales through gritted teeth, taking in the doll’s cock inch by inch, shivering at the stretch. He lets out a satisfied noise when it’s all the way in and tilts his head down again to keep working on Aziraphale.

He’s hard once more, and Aziraphale takes care of that immediately, somehow still focused enough to have the doll reach around Crowley’s body and stroke him.

Sometimes, things just get to be a little too much for a well-intentioned demon who thought his love was unrequited for thousands of years. A demon who touched himself not just because it felt physically good, but because it gave him the illusion – for just a few minutes – that things weren’t as hopeless as he’d thought. Because it comforted him.

As if he wasn’t already feeling like a candle burning on both ends, his mind decides this is the time to picture Aziraphale sitting in his wardrobe, all those years ago, watching him masturbate, uncomfortably aroused, unable to tear his gaze away. What a way to turn a sad memory into a happy one. He’s in love with an angel, after all. He should expect this kind of everyday miracles.

The doll thrusts into him, and he loses control of his voice, moans muffled around Aziraphale’s cock. It’s rock-hard and leaking, it encourages him to go faster and harder, until it’s pulsing, ready, and Crowley reaches up both hands on the angel’s chest, sinks his nails into the skin just below the nipples, and drags them down quick, all the way to his hips, leaving blazing pink trails across his body.

“Crowley—!” Aziraphale’s hips buck up and then he’s coming into Crowley’s mouth. The demon takes in the angel’s sounds, his taste, his smell, all the things he was forbidden for so long. They are, now, his and his alone. Given to him willingly, lovingly. There are still days when he doesn’t believe his luck.

As Aziraphale is wrecked by his orgasm the doll’s movements become erratic, then harder, quicker. Crowley presses his face into the angel’s hip as the doll slams into him, pumping his cock at the same time. Aziraphale tugs on his hair, asking him to look up. He’s breathless, but gazing down at Crowley with so much love in his eyes it almost burns. Not for the first time, Crowley feels completely unworthy of so much adoration.

Aziraphale’s gaze travels up, along the demon’s arched spine, to his ass sticking up, to the doll that has borrowed his appearance and is currently pounding into his lover. Crowley can only imagine what that looks like from Aziraphale’s point of view. He hopes it’s a nice picture. From the lost, dazed look on Aziraphale’s face, he’s willing to bet it is.

And if it’s a show he’s looking for, well.

Crowley gives it his best, pushing back, letting out a string of the most obscene noises he can come up with, holding back nothing. The word _angel_ is featured several times, and at every iteration Aziraphale looks a little more wrecked.

Crowley is so focused on his angel and the intensity of his pale blue eyes on his body that he almost doesn’t notice the pressure building up again at the centre of his body nor how, riling up Aziraphale, he’s actually pushing himself towards the inevitable end. It’s with an undignified yelp that he releases all over Aziraphale’s thighs, falling onto him soon after, as soon as the doll lets go of him.

He crawls to rest his head on Aziraphale’s belly, and the angel cards his fingers through his hair.

* * *

Later, when the afternoon has bled into a pink-orange evening over the sea, they sit on their porch swing. Aziraphale with his eyes closed and a cup of tea in his hands, enjoying the breeze, Crowley with a foot on his seat, a knee pulled to his face, enjoying the sight of his angel.

“You know,” he says after a while. “I can’t believe for the longest time I thought I had to stay away from you, lest I corrupt you.”

Aziraphale replies with a soft, embarrassed chuckle. “Hush now.” He takes a sip of his tea, watching Crowley over the rim of his cup. “Foul tempter.”

“That’s _Original_ Tempter, thank you. Capital o, capital t.”

Aziraphale laughs quietly into his cup. He reaches out, takes Crowley’s hand.

“My dearest.” He brings the hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “Have I ever told you?”

“Told me what?”

“One of the many reasons I love spending time with you. You’re just—you’re just so much_ fun _to be around.”

“Fun?” Crowley asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Fun.” Aziraphale nods.

“_Fun_.” Crowley says again, vaguely offended. “Like your bloody magic tricks?”

Aziraphale smiles, his eyes crinkling. “I think you quite enjoyed the trick I pulled today.”

Crowley opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Closes it for good, an abortive noise in his throat.

“Indeed.” Aziraphale tells himself, a proud expression on his face.

“I’m going to let this slide, angel. Just this once.” Crowley mutters into his knee.

“Of course, love.” He smiles at his demon as Crowley stares into the horizon. And if there’s a faint splash of red on his cheeks Aziraphale is willing to pretend it’s an illusion, maybe a reflection of the sunset painting their horizon crimson. “Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you start off wanting to write a spit roast for Crowley and end up with a wholeass 8k words story, you know? As it happens.  
Either way, this was very difficult to write for some reason!! But I’m happy with the result. Hope you had fun reading!


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